


it was hidden in the fall (waiting on love to call)

by ravenraiyes



Series: thunder clatter [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, and bellamy blake is a grumpy cutie as always, basically a single parent clarke!au that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenraiyes/pseuds/ravenraiyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake is sick and tired of always having to cover Clarke's shifts for her. </p><p>(He didn't know about the kid, alright?)</p><p>---</p><p>basically single parent!clarke where bellamy is the coworker who covers for her but doesn't know about her kid AU that no one asked for</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i feel it all

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this post](http://wanderinglilly.tumblr.com/post/113871457442/but-consider-this-a-bellarke-au-where-clarke-is)
> 
> title taken from a lyric from 'thunder clatter' by wild cub

Bellamy Blake _hates_  Clarke Griffin. **  
**

Okay, so it’s not so much hate as it is deep abhorrence for her, since all she’s done ever since she’s landed this job at the Ark as a barista is ask him to cover her shifts.

(So maybe it’s more like 3-4 shifts every two weeks, but for a struggling history major living on instant ramen, it feels like an eternity.)

He grumbles as he cleans another glass, wondering why the hell she even bothered to get a job if she couldn’t even do it properly.

And perhaps it’s not all _that_  bad when he covers her shifts, considering that she gives him a small cut of her pay when the checks come rolling in every two weeks.

She’s lucky that he likes making money, otherwise he would bring this up to Jaha right away.

The night shift started off normal enough, with the usual influx of college students filing into the Ark, each ordering heavily caffeinated drinks to keep themselves barely conscious and running on fumes during their cram sessions.

But as more college kids came in, the bell chiming every time the door opened, he realized that a majority of them were of the male gender, and they weren’t so much ordering drinks as they were staring at the goods.

Clarke’s ‘goods’, to be specific.

As the minutes drag on, Bellamy’s stuck to one side of the counter, biting back snarky remarks about them keeping it in their pants, slamming the machine a little harder than necessary when making the perverts’ drinks.

Surprisingly, Clarke doesn’t even seem to notice, and that’s what makes Bellamy snort as she looks at him questioningly while she hands a hazelnut latte to the boy with a smile and wave.

“What’s your problem?” she asks as the ruckus dies down, eyebrow arched, unwittingly her apron down even further as she attempts to straighten it out.

In his defense, Bellamy tries not to look, tries to be the gentleman in a situation like this, but for god’s sake, her boobs are literally spilling out of her top and it isn’t making this any easier for him.

He’s saved from answering when her phone beeps and she looks at the flashing screen, eyebrows knitting together as she reads the text on the screen.

When she glances back up at him, with blue eyes very wide and innocent, he narrows his eyes, remembering exactly why he resents Clarke Griffin in the first place

“Oh  _hell_  no.”

“Pretty pretty please?” she pleads as she clasps her fingers together sending him some look that manages to say  _“i owe you one”_  and   _“i’m really sorry about this”_  in one fucking go - which he thinks is totally unfair, considering she’s got all these other things going for her too.

(But he doesn’t say this out loud, since Clarke is supposed to be the enemy and all that.)

Instead, Bellamy sighs - because he knows he’s going to end up doing it anyway, because he’s a nice guy who likes having some extra cash, but it’s mostly because he’s never been able to say no when she flashes a smile and a pretty look his way - and points to the door.

“Thank you, thank you, thank  _you_ ,” She breathes out in relief, and before he knows it, she’s on her tippy toes and her arms are around him and  _Clarke Griffin_ , of all people, has just given him a hug.  

He hates how his heart sputters a little bit at the contact.

“I’ll make this up to you somehow!” Clarke grins, releasing him and runs into the staffroom, grabbing her stuff in a hurry.

“Just go.” Bellamy gruffly says - can’t have her thinking that he actually  _likes_ her, god forbid - and turns around to clean another glass, trying to hide his smile as she makes her way out the door.

 

 


	2. in the center of my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, Clarke, but the last time I checked, we weren’t in a relationship, and unless you have a mommy kink than this conversation’s getting a bit out of hand.” Bellamy manages to squeeze in the words, grinning devilishly, even though he realizes a couple heartbeats later that she can’t see his facial expression right now.

Bellamy has Clarke’s number. **  
**

It’s not like he asked for it or anything, because that would be totally weird, seeing as Clarke’s his super annoying coworker that never seems to show up for work.

(He didn’t, alright? She was pestering him about how she felt bad about always springing things up on him last minute, and saying things like, “ _how else am i going to contact you_?” with those total puppy eyes of hers - how was he going to say no?)

But anyways, what he’s trying to say is this: Bellamy has Clarke’s number, and she has his.

He just didn’t expect her to actually  _use_  it.

He’s hanging out with Monty and Miller, but it’s more of a awkward third wheeling more than anything else. They’re watching a pretty science-oriented action movie starring Chris Pine and a guy with pointy ears, but Bellamy’s on his phone, oblivious to the action happening on screen, since the past interests him a lot more than the future.

So when his screen lights up with a picture of a grumpy looking Clarke (her choice, not his), he sorts of panics.

Oh, who is he kidding?

He nearly throws his phone across the room in surprise.

“Hello?” he hoarsely whispers, which gets him dirty looks from both of the lovebirds watching the movie. Muttering a “sorry”, he heads outside the apartment and closes the door behind him.

“Who’s my little smoochie honey pie?” Clarke cooes into his ear, warm and sweet, unlike anything he’s ever heard from her, because Bellamy’s usually been on the receiving end of her bite, not  _this_ , whatever this is.

“Uh-” He tries to say, but she continues on, murmuring softly in his ear.

“Mommy’s coming home really soon, kay?”

Bellamy can’t help it - he laughs throatily, clutching the phone closer to his ear as she continues spewing nonsense into his ear, talking to him as if he was a lost puppy.

(If he’s being honest, he doesn’t mind it all too much.)

“Okay, Clarke, but the last time I checked, we weren’t in a relationship, and unless you have a mommy kink than this conversation’s getting a bit out of hand.” Bellamy manages to squeeze in the words, grinning devilishly, even though he realizes a couple heartbeats later that she can’t see his facial expression right now.

“Oops, wrong number!” she squeaks, and he can already imagine her cheeks coloring a dark pink, her lips pursing nervously like they always do when she’s made a mistake  - and holy _fuck_  he’s in too deep if he’s already fantasizing about how she looks.

 _It’s not even about her in bed, Blake, get a fucking grip_ , he thinks desperately, tugging at the collar of his cotton tee.

The dial tone is there to greet him before he can get anything else out, and he’s left there in the middle of the hallway, more confused than ever, and a teensy bit hot and bothered.

(Clarke’s sweet talking did a bigger number on him than he’d like to admit.)

He’s a bit confused, but mostly, he’s thinking about where this leaves him and his unfortunate growing attraction for Clarke Griffin.

But the big question is: if he’s already waxing poetic sonnets about Clarke, who’s done he’s done nothing but antagonize ever since they met, then what’s next? Breaking out into song?

He really hopes not - he’s a terrible singer, if the shattered windows near his shower are any indication. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> liked it? hated it? thoughts?
> 
> i'm [grounderbell](http://grounderbell.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you wanna talk :-)


	3. you're the love of my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so what he means is that they’re back to the usual ‘you can’t even make a caramel macchiato you dickbag how the hell did you get hired in the first place’ and ‘fuck you griffin at least i know how to make an espresso’ lively banter that they always engage in during the night shift together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at the end of this little ficlet! it was so fun to write this aw i'll miss it very much :(

All weird kink conversations aside, Bellamy thinks (keyword: thinks, he has absolutely no  _fucking_  idea how girls work, even though he’s practically raised Octavia from birth) he and Clarke are back to normal.

Or as normal as they’ll ever be, to be honest.

Okay, so what he means is that they’re back to the usual ‘ _you can’t even make a caramel macchiato you dickbag how the hell did you get hired in the first place_ ’ and ‘ _fuck you griffin at least i know how to make an espresso_ ’ lively banter that they always engage in during the night shift together.

He doesn’t mind all the yelling, in fact, he kinda digs it, since all it does is rile Clarke up to the point where her cheeks are red and her chest is heaving up and down and  _good god,_  he’s kinda tempted to see if she gets that flushed if he went down on her, if she’ll be that desperate when -

“A pumpkin spice espresso, double shots of caffeine!” She yells from the front counter, and Bellamy has plenty of time to think of dead, mutilated Frankenstein-ed puppies before he trusts himself to bring said drink to the counter.

 _Was he really thinking about Clarke in the bedroom?_  He thinks flusteredly, and the little guy downstairs seems jump a bit at the sentence itself, which really sucks because Clarke is just his annoying coworker who loves to skip out on him half the time.

His unfortunately attractive, annoying, mannerless coworker.

Nothing more.

Except now she’s suddenly standing in front of him with this unsure look on her face, like she’s nervous or something, and doing this biting thing with her lips that Bellamy desperately wants to do for her.

_Fuck._

_Dead mutilated puppies, Bell,_ he reminds himself as he shakes himself out of his daze with an eloquent, “Huh?”

There’s a lull in the crowd of customers, as it’s around one o’ clock in the morning, the slowest time of the night, and Bellamy thinks that a tumbleweed rolling around would be appropriate as of right now to indicate just how empty this place is.

“I think we should talk about something,” Clarke bites her lip again, leaning against the counter, and fuck what she’s doing right now should be illegal in thirty different countries.

(Clarke Griffin is just too damn attractive for her own good.)

He tries to be intelligent, tries to be suave like he knows he can, but in her presence it’s like he’s a pile of mush.

So of  _fucking_  course, what comes out of his mouth is an enthusiastic, “I like you,” while she takes this very moment to blurt out, “I have a kid.”

Bellamy internally slaps himself in the face, because  _wow, he has such **great**  timing._

(Note the sarcasm and self-loathing deeply rooted within that phrase.)

He must be looking at her with a pained face, because Clarke - like always, misinterprets him - turns away with him with burning cheeks and a muttered, “Oh god, this was a mistake.”

“No!” He all but screams at her, large hand curling about her arm in an attempt to stop her from leaving.

“I, uh, mean, no.” He clears his throat, the hand previously around her arm shooting to nervously rub the back of his neck. Clarke’s staring back at him with something akin to hope in her eyes, which are a bit red-rimmed, he notices, but chooses not to comment on.

“Let me get this straight.” He says slowly, surely, so that they have no more miscommunications and hidden messages. “You have a kid?”

She pulls the bottom of her lip through her teeth - gah,  _again_  with the lip biting - and nods jerkily, fear evident in her eyes, as if he was going to judge her, and that’s what gets Bellamy to crack a smile.

“At least it’s not AIDs.” he shrugs, moving past her to whip up hot cocoa for the both them.

“Yeah, that would’ve been bad.” Clarke laughs, all stiffness lifted off her shoulders, and moves to help him. While in the process of gathering the mugs, she suddenly pauses, stock still.

“Wait a minute. You said something too, right? When we did that ‘I have a little infant child in my care that has my DNA’ thing just a moment ago?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about princess; I didn’t say anything.” he stammers, nearly slamming the lid of the machine on a stray pinky in his carelessness.

“Yes, you did.” Her answer is insistent as she jabs him in the side with her elbow.

“Lemme see,” her voice turns teasing, and it’s when he knows he’s fucked; she totally heard what he’d said earlier, and she’s just dragging it out for shits and giggles now.

What a cruel motherfucker.

“Didn’t you say that you liked me?” Bellamy can totally envision her victorious grin, except now it’s probably laced with a sort of softness he’s never seen before, but he doesn’t turn around because it would give her so much satisfaction, the smarmy princess.

Instead, Bellamy pretends not to hear, letting the dark red tint spreading across his cheekbones answer for him as he turns around, steaming mugs of cocoa in each hand.

“For what it’s worth,” she whispers in his ear as she pecks him on the cheek, sliding the warm cup out of his hand, “I kinda like you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? comments? kudos? 
> 
> **want me to continue writing drabbles for this au?**
> 
> **please come tell me[here](http://grounderbell.tumblr.com)**

**Author's Note:**

> comments? complaints? anything?
> 
> drop by [my tumblr](http://ravenraiyes.tumblr.com/) to yell at me / give a prompt!


End file.
